


Five Years Gone

by iam_spock (FanficbyLee), Senket



Category: Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies), Star Trek: Kelvin Timeline
Genre: Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Space Husbands, kirk & spock - Freeform, spirk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-12-04
Updated: 2018-07-10
Packaged: 2019-02-10 11:09:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 9
Words: 11,671
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12910674
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FanficbyLee/pseuds/iam_spock, https://archiveofourown.org/users/Senket/pseuds/Senket
Summary: Jim was declared dead five years ago. Spock has been in command of Enterprise. The Enterprise is sent to Drozana Station (stolen from Star Trek Online because it's the perfect crappy space station for this story) to recover something Starfleet left behind.What Spock doesn't know is that Jim's not dead, and it's going to be one hell of a reunion.





	1. Drozana Station - Spock

**Author's Note:**

> This is a do-over of a story we started a few years ago and didn't finish, but this time we will.

_Drone: 1: a stingless male bee (as of the honeybee) that has the role of mating with the queen and does not gather nectar or pollen, 2 : one that lives on the labors of others : parasite. 3: an unmanned aircraft or ship guided by remote control or onboard computers._

_Droning: 1: to make a dull, continued, low, monotonous sound; hum; buzz. 2: to speak in a monotonous tone. 3: to proceed in a dull, monotonous manner (usually followed by on): The meeting droned on for hours._

Both words were appropriate for the meeting Spock was trapped in, and as always, he was quite pleased that he was capable of multitasking. While paying attention to the droning conversation about drones with what passed as the senior staff of Drozana Station, he was going over crew reviews, seventeen running experiments and surveys by the Science Department, and deciding on his next move in four three-dimensional chess games.

The Captain of the _USS Enterprise_ had three teams of engineers working on _emergency_ repairs that were long due years ago. Mr. Scott informed him, barely managing to contain what would have been colorful expletives about the state of the station that had once been maintained and staffed by Starfleet. Time had not served Drozana well nor had the Ferengi who now owned the station.

Spock wasn’t fond of Ferengi. The Federation had limited experience with them. From what he could tell they were the opposite of everything the Federation stood for, and he did not understand why Starfleet would insist on _Enterprise_ assisting them with anything on the derelict station. So he’d dug deeper, until his efforts drew the attention of Command at which point they told him why they were there. When Starfleet decommissioned the station they left something behind, and it was his crew’s job to find it before the Ferengi did. Why that was kept on a need to know basis was new levels of illogical, but he had his orders.

“The drones will be capable of reaching areas of the station that are not safe for my crew,” Spock pointed out once more. This was the fourth time, and unbeknownst to the snaggle-toothed owner of Drozana, Spock was losing his temper. There were only three people who could read him well enough to know that, and only McCoy was still with the crew. Nyota had returned to Earth, and Jim was gone.

“If you desire our assistance to make repairs, you will allow my crew to use whatever methods they require. If you are unwilling to have these repairs made, I am certain your partners will enjoy combing through the wreckage of the station when it is no longer viable, which according to my Chief Engineer could be within the next month.” Sadly, he wasn’t lying. But of course by using the same logic, Starfleet would be able to comb the same wreckage to look for their missing _do-dad_ as Leonard put it. “Although it is quite possible that they will be too poor from being sued by the families of the innocent victims of the catastrophic failure of the station’s systems.”

“Fine! Your people can use their drones. But anything they find belongs to me. I own this place, Starfleet. Don’t forget it.” The Ferengi waved a hand at Spock in a dismissive manner that the Vulcan was pleased to see.

Technically the Ferengi did own the station and its equipment, but since the device was not on any manifests from the period when Starfleet decommissioned the station, Spock felt they were not stealing. He was a Vulcan after all and embraced technicality.

He left the conference room, such as it was, after giving Scott the go ahead, and while he’d prefer to return to  _Enterprise_ , he thought it best to remain on the station should there be any more trouble between his crew and the station’s personnel. Following the bright sounds of laughter and gambling games, Spock made his way to the station’s main area that was now a large, and he suspected highly disreputable, casino. Scantily clad waiters, of several sexes, walked among the customers with trays laden with neon colored potables that would probably eat several layers of filth from the station’s bulkheads if they tried it.

Erring on the side of caution, Spock ordered tea. Although he was wearing Command gold, he still kept a tricorder slung across his body that he could use to make certain the tea did not contain any parasites or contaminants that would harm him. And in such a crowded place, where he was required to pay, he doubted anyone would care if it sat on his table untouched.

He slid into a booth that was closer to the actual bar than he’d like, but it never hurt to listen in on local conversations. It was possible the device was long gone, after all, and the rumor mill was often a font of knowledge. He’d learned that trick from Jim, and as he settled on the lumpy bench seat, trying not to think about how dirty it was, he let out a silent sigh. Jim Kirk would have loved this place—filth and all.

Spock didn’t bother hiding that he was scanning the tea when the nearly naked Andorian female delivered it to his table. She smiled at him before sauntering off to help another customer. She knew she’d be wasting her time flirting or chatting with him and left him to attempt to get a better tip from a table full of rowdy humans.

“Yes, Doctor?” Spock inquired when his communicator chirruped.

“I wanted you to know I changed my mind after seeing that cesspool. No one should be on that station without wearin’ an EVA. It’s disgusting.”

“For once, I am not forced to agree with you. There will be no shore leave on Drozana. We will be leaving as soon as our mission is over.” Which could not happen soon enough for Spock. Jim had been gone for five years, three months, and seventeen days, and being in a dive-bar on the edge of nowhere, made his soul ache for his captain, his friend, his t’hy’la… And suddenly Spock wished he’d ordered bourbon. The alcohol wasn’t strong enough to affect his Vulcan metabolism, but he could pretend to have a drink with Jim.

“To better times,” he said into his glass of bitter tea. _To better times when I was at your side wearing blue._


	2. The Drozana Approach - Jim

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> For the first time in five years, Jim sights Starfleet.

Jim tucked against a corner of the transport ship’s main hall, rust scrapping away from the walls to dust the shoulders of his roughspun cloak. He curled around a wooden bowl full of lukewarm broth and diced plain roots, grey and soft. He watched the ripples in the liquid as the ancient ship shuddered beneath its passengers.

“Why aren’t we docking?” A Ferengi asked a worker heatedly.

“All the docking slots are taken at the moment”

“We are on schedule! Do you expect me to allow my wares to rot in your stores?!”

“The station expects a station to open up in the next three hours.”

“Three hours?! This is outrageous!”

“Please!” the harried attendant responded, “keep your voice down!”

“I will not!”

Jim’s eyes narrowed on the arguing pair. From here, he could not quite make out the Ferengi. His left eye had no sight in it any longer, and the right one had a slight film over it since the operation, leaving a milky residue that gave anything further than several meters a fuzzy aura. He wouldn’t have been fighting fit anyway, not with the loss of musculature that he still struggled to regain, but losing his pristine vision had certainly crushed any ability to really fight he had left.

“What is causing this damned delay, anyway?”  
The attendant leaned closer, whispering something into the Ferengi’s ears. Of course, that had been a pointless exercise; it was clear to Jim the worker did not deal with Ferengi very well, because the salesman only repeated it, disgust clear in his voice.  
“Starfleet? Here?!”

Starfleet. Jim’s heart jumped in his throat. The bowl of soup clattered to the floor as he stood, stumbling to the nearest viewing port. Starfleet---

Starfleet was a blessing and a curse. After years away, he had no doubt that they would sweep him up and put him into an isolated room until he was done debriefing. Days, weeks- months, possibly, alone, as Starfleet’s therapists and psychologists questioned every half-remembered memory, every hallucination caused by sleeplessness and malnutrition, every garbled word he had barely understood, followed by the admiralty, poked and prodded by medical officers he neither knew nor trusted, tortured with ‘care’, only to parade him before the people as a returning- what? Hero? Survivor? Prisoner of War? God. No. He couldn’t- wasn’t sure he could come out the other side of that, not the person he was now, not- this. This mockery of himself.

But Starfleet also meant a way home. Rest. Eventually. Back to Spock, Bones, Uhura- if they were still here, still alive… For all he knew, the Enterprise had been blasted apart the moment he’d been taken.

Jim stared out the viewport window, his nose pressing into the cold plexiglass, as they circled the station, but he could make out nothing more clearly than a sleek pale-grey shape, out of place against the dirty brown of the old station and other clunky ships. No, like this, he would never be let near the Federation ship. Not a chance.

Shutting his eyes, Jim leaned his forehead against the window, taking in and letting out measured, counted breaths in an effort to slow his drumbeating heart. A slow swipe of his hand ensured that his hood was pulled fully over his shorn hair, its shadow disguising brown eyes and partially obscuring the Vulcan calligraphy that poured down his left cheek, black tears of comfort. It could not be read, anyway, not by looking at it directly, for it was mirrored text; not for any stranger that crossed him in the dark but for himself, in the cold unforgiving light of strange ship after strange ship, enemy port after enemy port, whenever he chanced to see his own reflection and could recognize nothing but the meaning behind the words spread across his skin.

More and more people clustered around Jim, eager to see what was causing their delay. The moment someone crashed into him he disengaged, skittering out of the crowd and disappearing into the bowels of the ship. He had to get on board that ship and back to Federation space. But how? The Drozana station was famously decrepit- navigating its hidden ducts and corridors should be easy, as what little security it had would be focused almost entirely on the Dabo tables. Reaching the ship’s doors would be no issue. Getting past the security no doubt stationed in the docking corridor would be easier. But once on the ship, what to do? Turn himself into the captain, knowing he wouldn’t see daylight until Starfleet was ready to parade him around? Hide himself, knowing the ship’s computer would detect him? Hack into the computer to hide his signature, knowing his codes would’ve been invalidated years ago? Where did he go from here? How could he enlist help of a Starfleet officer as he was now, broken, weak, limping, bearing a name that was a brand more than a-

“Halt, Lliunahi. You are not welcome here.”

Darkness flashed in Jim’s brown eyes. Emotion erased itself from his face. He took on something else as he turned, tension draining from him until he swayed with the ship. An Orion stood before him, a head above him, thickly muscled. It guarded a smirking lady Orion and her human partner, all dressed in fine blue silks. She called herself the Jewel of the Sea. Jim highly doubted she had seen any sea in her life. “Neither are you,” he answered coldly, “but you don’t see me making a fuss.”

No doubt drunk on the pheromones released by his lady, the male Orion bellowed, charging at Jim without a thought. Gritting his teeth, Jim spun to the side, watching as the Orion went right past him. The guard yelled wordlessly, charging at him again. Jim ducked, but meaty hands grasped the edge of his cloak, yanking the thin human back, and a stone-like forehead crashed into the side of his skull. Blinking spots for his eyes, Jim stumbled back. That same fist found his already-cracked eye socket, and with a weak cry, Jim crumbled to the floor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lliunahi - poorly translated Romulan for "one without name or designation"


	3. Voices of the Past - Spock

“Starfleet, you’re bad for business. Go back where you came from,” a snarling alien covered with random spots, with a pair of antlers strapped to his oblong head by bright leather straps. As it shook its head, bells on the branches chimed. It was the only pleasant sound to come from them.

“I cannot,” Spock stated flatly, with his hands folded behind the small of his back while a pair of his engineers popped open a panel behind a rack of possibly the ugliest clothing the well-traveled Starfleet Captain had ever seen. “Vulcan was destroyed by Nero in 2258.”

The merchant threw his three fingered hands into the air and began a string of curses the universal translator clipped to his collar could not understand, which was just as well as Spock was in no mood to hear what position he should be in to fuck or be fucked by anyone on the space station.

Once it was clear his presence was unnecessary, he gratefully escaped to _Enterprise_ where he could work in relative silence. It would certainly smell better than Drozana.

 

***

 

Spock sat at his desk in the ready room that had once belonged to Jim. He no longer wondered how Jim felt sitting at Captain Pike’s desk after the death of their mentor and friend. He understood the feeling well, and after half a decade, he thought he should feel it less. There was a fine line between suppressing and controlling one’s emotions, and he was erring on the wrong side of the battle. Had he been in control, he would have worked through them. Instead they festered behind walls that were a parsec thick.

On the wall across from the desk, there were several models of the various ships called _Enterprise_ , starting with ships from the 18th century, through to the space shuttle of the 20th, and then onto the NX-01 and NCC-1701. All were plated in gold, and while the smaller NX ship was shiny from stem to stern, there was a smear of fingerprints on the Constitution Class ship along the nacelles and saucers. No one questioned Spock when he informed his yeoman that the fingerprints were not to be wiped away.

He’d explained to the young human that many members of the crew who had served on the previous ship often felt the need to handle the tribute to her. What Spock did not inform him was that the fingerprints he wished to preserve belonged to Jim. Yet another of Spock’s emotional responses to the loss that broke him inside.

With a sigh that no one would hear, Spock began filling in the crew reviews he’d been mentally working on while on Droxana into his computer, starting with his most senior officer, Dr. McCoy.

 

***flashback***

 

“What the hell is this!” McCoy came stomping into the ready room holding a PADD in one hand while gesturing with both, in a manner that made it look as if he was attempting to take flight. Heavy creases split his brows above his earth-toned eyes. He tossed the tablet onto the desk, where it skittered toward Spock.

“It is a personal data device, frequently called a PADD, also called a tablet. One of many useful 21st century inventions that are still in use today—of course ours are more advanced,” Spock replied drolly with an arch of his own brow. He reached for the tablet, after adjusting the sleeve of his gold sleeve unsure of what bothered him more the color or the rank. He was not fond of either.

“That’s not what I’m talking about, you pointy-eared bastard. You’re tryin’ to transfer me off Enterprise!” McCoy leaned forward on his palms and glowered at Spock.

“I assumed you would desire to leave. You have spent uncountable hours complaining about being in space, expressing a keen hatred of space travel.”

“Don’t even try it, Spock. You’re not getting rid of me that easily.” McCoy pushed away from the desk and headed for the drawer that still held the last of Jim’s bourbon stash. “It might’ve worked on Uhura, but it’s not goin’ to work on me.” He pulled out a pair of glasses as well, hooking his fingers inside of them to carry with one hand before dropping into the chair across from his new captain.

“I do not know…” Spock didn’t get to finish.

“Bullshit. You know damned well what you’re doing, and I’m not going anywhere. Who the hell else is going to keep you out of trouble, hmm?” The man asked, his accent growing stronger with each sentence. Spock watched as he poured a matching amount of alcohol into each glass. “You miss Jim. I miss Jim. I’m not leaving you out here all alone to sulk. You’re stuck with me.”

Spock took the glass when McCoy slid it across the desk. He picked it up, looking at the reflection of the stars behind him in the depths of the drink that he had no desire to imbibe. “I thought it was what you would want.”

“You’re afraid, Spock,” McCoy said as he drained half his glass, licking a free drop from his lips before continuing. “If you send us away, we won’t die. You lost your mom, lost your planet, lost Pike, and then you lost Jim.” The doctor held his half empty glass toward Spock’s in a toast. “I miss him too, but he’d never forgive me if I didn’t stay with you. Now drink your drink, and then cancel that transfer. I’d made a shitty stowaway.”

 

*** the present ***

“Captain Spock,” his yeoman said from the door, tearing him from his memories and his reports. “There’s trouble on the station, and Mr. Scott thinks you need to head back over there.”

“Did he give you any details?” He asked as he locked down his computer and tugged at the hem of his uniform. He debated whether to bring his tricorder or a phaser while pulling on an away mission jacket. He’d decide when he reached the transporter room.

“Something about a human causing a ruckus, his word not mine.”

“I find it odd that anyone causing a ruckus on Drozana would draw anyone’s attention other than station security. As our crew was not given shore leave, it makes me curious why he thought I should be interested in the situation.” But Spock knew there was no ‘ruckus’. He and his Chief Engineer had established a code for when the missing Starfleet tech was located, which meant their mission was close to over. Thank Surak.


	4. Rescue - Jim

Jim woke in cold darkness. He picked himself up gingerly, wincing as a wave of dizziness assaulted him, and crawled to the nearest wall. His vision swam, a hot, slow throb pulsing through his left eye. The pain was familiar; he had lived with it for weeks, once. Jim pulled in slow, wheezing gasps, waiting for the tunneling in his vision to fade. He touched the shell of his eye- a spark of pain exploded beneath it, fading quickly into a tingling numbness that melted down his cheek. He found no blood. That, at least, was a blessing. He mumbled a curse, pulling his hood over his face. Using the wall for purchase, Jim struggled to stand. It was slow work, his head screaming agony and his stomach roiling as he dragged himself up. He was forced to remain, forehead against the cool plating on the ship’s walls, for several minutes as he fought down the nausea and vertigo.

Moving was slow work. He dragged his feet in the dark, hands pressing against metal as he moved. The ship, thankfully, was empty. It had docked while he was blacked out, and all but the most weary had gone into the station already. He followed them gladly, regardless of his snail’s pace  
Once past the gentle hissing doors of the station’s external doors, the smell assaulted him immediately. It was- it had the lingering, sticky-sweet scent of wet garbage, intermingled here and there with musty rot and sprayed over with what he could only describe as Floral Fake. He might have ignored it happily in another time, but his nausea magnified the smell so strongly that he had to clamp a hand over his nose and mouth to save himself from retching. And that was just the smell. It was so loud.

His stomach rebelled, needing nutrition and yet refusing spice. It loudly complained its emptiness, but he couldn’t get food. No, not when Drozana’s only accessible meals were in the cantina- full of people, flashing neon lights, dabo girls, sweet drink and drunken patrons. Five years ago, Jim would’ve been the heart of the party. Now, it was too bright, too loud, too public. Too dangerous. (Not to mention the Jewel of the Fucking Sea would be there.) No. He would have to do without.

Jim veered away from the sound. He clustered more closely to the wall as he shambled deeper into the station, keeping his head down, face hidden in the shadows of his cloak. At this slow pace he expected to be mostly left alone. He’d been on many stations just like this one- rundown derelicts populated by thieves and drifters, nameless rejects like himself drifting through them like ghosts as others fought for scrap metal and respect. None of those people had time for the hungry sick.

Halfway down a corridor, he found a large grate hanging at an angle, all its screws gone or rusted away except for the top left corner. He glanced both ways, clustered close to the wall, and waited until a Tellarite, the only sentient lifeform present, disappeared around a bend. He pushed at the grate, wincing when it squeeked and scraped, and slid into the ducts hiding behind it. It seemed to be for air, Jim’s breath settling into the rhythm of a fan sluicing gently through the space; a safe place. He pushed a little deeper until the shadows would hide him from any passerbys, and went to sleep.  
Jim woke hours later, headache and dizziness still present but a mere throb compared to the pain of his hunger. He crawled from the vent and collapsed into a heap on the floor, listening intently. No footsteps. No voices that he could here. Even the vague noise that had come from the cantina had settled. Early in the morning, surely, just late enough for the worst partiers to be in bed and early enough for the first risers to be out of the way. Possibly.

He had no way of telling.

Jim gathered to his feet and began the slow walk to the cantina. There were two or three scragglers, but none seemed interested in him any more than he was interested in them. He hobbled to the bar, collapsing gratefully on a stool, and asked the blue barman for a bowl of soup and a hot drink.

“Pay first,” the tusked man replied.

Jim’s head bobbed. He fished a few coins from the depths of his pocket, plunking them down on the bar. The man squinted at them, picking them up and looking through them one by one. He stopped at an octagonal dime, holding it close to his face. His lips pulled back from triangular teeth. “I don’t take this one.”

“Fine.”

“No drink or no soup?”

Jim stared at the counter for several moments. His lips were cracking, his skin felt tight- but soup had plenty of water, too. “No drink is fine,” he muttered, defeated. The barman grunted, taking seven of Jim’s twelve coins, and puttered away.

“This one is Romulan,” a female voice said over his shoulder, a long finger tapping the octagonal coin.

“Oh, is it?” Jim asked casually, thankful for the scratchiness of his throat. It disguised it, sometimes. He shrugged. “I get handed all kinds of things.”

“That may be true. Then again, it may not.” The hand withdrew suddenly. Before Jim could breathe, the hood that hid his face had been snatched back. In a moment more, he was pulled to his feet and torn from the bar, thrown clear across the room onto the dance floor. Jim turned onto his stomach; neon lights flashed across his face, blinding him. Before he could begin to crawl away, the stranger snatched him up against and threw him against the wall, black eyes boring into his.

“Found you,” the stranger remarked, a hardness in her tone despite her disinterested expression. “Lliunahi.” She smiled, an ugly thing, a poisonous thing. “I will be rewarded for this.”  
“Lucky you,” Jim gritted out. He twisted against her hands but there was little he, an exhausted, starved and injured human, could do against a Romulan at full strength. He stepped on her feet but she only smirked. He dug his knuckles against her side, where a human liver would be, and where Vulcans and hopefully Romulans- she cried anger, slamming her fist into the left side of his head, following it with a punch to the chest. He doubled over, gasping- a drove his hard head into her torso. Surprised, she flinched backwards, and Jim threw himself under her arm to run off the floor.

Two broad red shapes came into the room, early morning. Their stance was familiar to Jim, who slowed almost immediately, because-

“...Hendorf..?”

It was too late. The Romulan’s hand closed over his mouth and nose, a thumb pushing into his cheek. She dragged him back, pinned him into the corner. Pain flared up into his eye, sharp and hot, vision fading into black sparks. Another hand closed around his throat, and as he struggled to suck in air, Jim’s knees buckled. He sank, weakly scratching at the alien’s shoulders and chest.

Jim hit the floor again suddenly, light cutting across him. He coughed roughly, rolling over onto his back, squinting up at the ceiling. He heard distorted shouting, caught the flare of silver off the Romulan’s geometrical shoulderpads as she vanished into the building crowd. Red swarmed his vision; Jim was assaulted by another wave of nauseating dizziness as he was abruptly brought to his feet again. He blinked hard, swallowed, squinting at his savior.

“Jesus Christ,” the man hissed, confusion and concern warring on his face. “Kirk?”

“Heeeey Cupcake,” Jim smiled, patting the man’s cheek. His tongue was thick in his mouth, darkness creeping in the corners of his vision. He could feel loss of consciousness encroaching. “Looking good. Listen, you think you can get me a doctor?” His head lulled forward, thudding gently against the Security officer’s broad shoulder. “I think I need one.”


	5. Ashayam - Spock

Pausing for a moment before entering the bridge, Spock’s dark eyes took in his crew. They were the best in the fleet, and he was grateful for them and their adherence to duty. No one who served on _Enterprise_ would think of slacking even while docked at Droxana. Seeing Sulu at the sensor station instead of in the chair drew his complete attention, and he diverted toward him, crossing the circular bridge with practiced ease. “Mr. Sulu?”

“We have a problem, Captain,” Commander Sulu said straightening at the Vulcan’s approach. He nodded toward the trio of screens above the interface panels of the station. Taking half a step closer, Spock noted a slight variance on the right-hand display. “We noticed something strange on the scanners. A shimmer or reflection. Turns out there’s a cloaked Romulan ship hovering within transporter range of the station.”

_Romulan_. Spock’s canines sank into the inner corners of his lips, a move he’d practiced before a mirror as a child to hide an emotional reaction, and he was definitely having one. He did not care for Romulans, which was annoying in and of itself, especially knowing that his counterpart, Ambassador Spock, spent most of his life attempting to reunify Vulcans and their cousins. After what Nero had done to Vulcan, it was inconceivable to Spock that any such peace could become reality, which was sadly Nero’s purpose in destroying his home.

The junior science officer called up the raw data without being asked, knowing that of all the people on the ship, Spock could read it as easily as he could read a children’s book. “Type 3 Bird of Prey,” he said, silently pleased that he was correct when the lieutenant nodded and pulled up a transparent three-dimensional construct of the sensor echo that had detected the ship.

“Not likely to pick a fight with us,” Sulu pointed out. “And as far as we can tell, they don’t know that we know they’re there. Do you think they’re after something?” Two pairs of brown eyes met over the top of the blond science officer’s head while Sulu silently inferred the Romulans were after the same thing they were.

The secret nature of their mission made it impossible to speak freely on the bridge, which was inconvenient, but luckily Spock and Sulu had developed a rapport over their half decade serving as captain and XO together.

“It would seem that the station director was correct when he boasted that ‘there’s something for everyone on Droxana’.” The Vulcan captain did not like the idea that the Romulans were also after the device in the slightest, but sadly, leaks and spies were part of their reality. Someone, somewhere always seemed to find out what you did not want them to. It was a fact of the universe, almost a constant, and as a Vulcan he found it very annoying. “We shall need to keep our eyes peeled on our invisible friends. I do not like them being here.”

“That won’t be easy, sir. We can see their ship, but according to sensors there are no Romulans on Droxana, which makes no sense. Why be out there, if you don’t have anyone on the station?” Sulu let out the exasperated sigh that Spock could not. “Unless we catch one doing something they shouldn’t on Droxana, we can’t do much, and even then, since the station’s no longer Starfleet controlled…”

“We might not be able to do anything then either—unless they pose a deliberate threat to lives on the station—which is quite possible in their case.” He knew he sounded prejudiced, racist even, but he knew his conclusions were also based on cold-hard logic. “We are not within the Neutral Zone. We are in Federation space. They are cloaked, which infers they know they are not supposed to be here…but until they make a move, it would be best for us to pretend that we do not know they are there.”

“While preparing for the worst.”

“There is a reason I selected you for my first officer, Mr. Sulu. Thank you for reminding me why it was a wise choice. I shall beam over to Droxana to see what Mr. Scott has discovered, as well as to inform him of our own discoveries.”

“And I thought it was because I knew when not to follow orders.” This time Sulu gave him a bright smile and a nod as he left Spock to make his way over to the station.

“That was a factor, yes. You have the conn,” Spock said, making his way for the turbolift, secure in the knowledge that his ship and crew would be safe with Sulu in command.

***

With his hands folded behind his back, PADD tucked under his arm, Spock beamed over to the dilapidated station. As before he was assailed by the foul smell of the station’s improperly maintained environmental systems and wondered if any of the engineering teams were having any success repairing them. He’d been informed the parts were difficult to find, but that they would do their best to make it work. Scott pointed out the owners of the station were damned lucky they were there at all snooping about, otherwise nothing would be getting fixed at all.

A trio of rowdy civilians of an alien race Spock was not familiar with, brushed past him to keep him from entering the turbolift that would take him to the level where Mr. Scott was waiting for him. His dark eyes narrowed before closing as he watched the door seal. As he reached for his communicator to inform Scott that he’d been delayed, it beeped.

“Spock here.”

“Captain, this is Hendorf. You need to come to the station’s med bay as soon as you beam over.”

“I am already here, lieutenant. Have you or one of your men been injured?” There was only a hint of concern in his voice, although he was very worried. For one of his people to be in Droxana’s medbay, and he inwardly cringed at the mess that must be, they would have to be severely injured. “I will have Dr. McCoy beam over immediately.”

“Not one of my men, sir. It’s difficult to explain.”

Spock accessed his PADD, finding the best route to take to Hendorf, and managed to find his way there with only being accosted twice by vagrants looking for handouts outside of the clinic. It was deplorable, and he was certain to hear about it from McCoy once he arrived. “What seems to be the trouble, Mr. Hendorf?”

“It’s the captain, sir,” the bearded security chief said, looking far more uncomfortable than Spock had seen him since their eventful mission to the Klingon home world to apprehend Khan.

“As I am the captain, I find your wording confusing, Commander.”

“No sir, it’s the captain.” Hendorf almost reached for Spock’s elbow but stopped, instead motioning toward one of the narrow beds where a reed-thin humanoid was examining an unconscious male. “Spock, it’s Captain Kirk.”

He stopped walking. His forward foot, only partially on the deck while he took a long look at the man on the bed. The nose was wrong, close, but not quite right. But human noses were so easily broken. His hair was dirty and not at all as perfectly styled as Jim kept his, and the rest of him wasn’t much better. Spock wanted to tell Hendorf he was wrong, but then as the doctor moved out of the way, he saw the tattoo. It was Vulcan, and for some odd reason it was scripted in the opposite direction—a mirror image of what it should be.

“Jim?” Unable to keep his voice from cracking as his paired fingers hovered over the tattoo in an almost kiss. His mind was a torrent of emotions fighting with logic while he tried to understand how it was possible. “Ashayam?”

 

 


	6. Silence

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim wakes up cold.

Jim breathed dust. He rose his head slowly, climbed to his feet. Rows of splintered growth stretched to infinity, grey-blond stalks of dry wheat jutting out like teeth. In the distance, a ring of flames and smoke. He swayed on his feet.

Jim had never been a stranger to apocalyptic nightmares, but that did not mean he enjoyed them. Enjoyed this. Enjoyed the coming feeling of being burnt alive. He watched the flames leap and spit from dead plant to dead plant, hissing with a million voices, the screams of children and the sobs of ancient men, the wordless agony of a nearly-expired race. They ran towards him like snarling beasts, eager to taste the blood of the last survivor. He stepped back and turned away, but the ring was behind him too, dust climbing and flying into his milky eyes. He turned, his legs jelly, sank gently into the earth. Too far into the earth. It reached his waist, and when he pressed his fingers down they sank into the ashes and found the shapes of bones.

A touch from nowhere and the fire withdrew into itself, a tall spire of heat spearing into the sky before crashing into the ashen ground. He braced himself for the explosion to follow, puzzled, when it went out into a drift of white smoke.

Suddenly, quiet.

His eyes flew open. Light flooded his vision, further blurring the figure that loomed over him, a tall frame blotting out the vibrant white. He didn’t need to see to recognize his visitor, though. He exhaled, tension draining from him, his eyes fluttering shut again even as his lips curved into an incredulous smile. He coiled his hand around the one touching his cheek, index and middle fingers stretching along the length of Spock’s, even if they were on the wrong side. He turned his head, lips brushing gently against a line of cool knuckles, before moving their tangled fists to sit over his sternum, where it was less painful, where he could rest.

“Spock.” What a place to linger in. What luck. The weight of their hands settled him, reached roots into the fertile ground. “Long time no see.” And yet it was not meant to be.

Spock’s hand sat slack in his own. It wasn’t long before the balm of the half-Vulcan’s presence wore away in the face of his careful silence. Jim gritted his teeth, squeezing the hand beneath his. A wave of fear assaulted him- that this was a new twist in the cruelty of his dreams, a hallucination, a misunderstanding. He cracked his right eye open again, squinting until the light wasn’t so overwhelming. He waited for the shape to take form, to solidify, but no, he was right, it was- Spock. Unmoved.

He let the man’s hand drift from his own, smiling tightly at the yellow shirt adorning the man’s figure. “Captain Spock, I take it?”

“Indeed.”

The silence stretched between them, weighed down on him, and suddenly roots were rocks and he- couldn’t quite breathe. Jim blinked rapidly, his tongue flicking out to wet cracked lips, and turned his head away to look across the room. Not aboard any Federation ship, that was for sure, they must still be aboard Drozana. Would it be the Enterprise? He yearned for her, almost as much as he yearned for-

Anyway. He struggled to sit up, but managed only a dry cough, pain flaring hot in his chest.

“Three of your ribs have fractured,” Spock informed him coolly. “Perhaps you should not attempt to move.”

“Perhaps you should help me sit up,” Jim grumbled, his head bowed. Spock did, at least, with an efficiency that left Jim wanting. He leaned more heavily against the Vulcan’s touch than necessary, but was too beaten by the man’s distant silence to request further attention. His fingers rubbed over his severely short hair, dirty enough that it could easily be mistaken for brown. His eyes, brown too, hidden under the shadow of his hands. It's superficial but it's a stain nevertheless, a stain like the tattoo that drips from it and a stain like the black fire in his memory. He-

What-

What was he supposed to-

He rubbed his eyes hard and- “FUCK.” He’d forgotten the Orion had reshattered his eye socket somehow, his head jerking back so hard he almost fell back down. Spock stopped him with a spread hand against his back and another catching his elbow. He sucked in a shuddering breath, confused by the hot and cold of the man’s behavior, by his staunch silence. But they were in a public place, and he wasn’t about to break the man’s composure for a bit of mercy. Not when- whatever happened here was bound to be… Sensitive in some way.

Even if every cell in his being wanted to wrap against, around, into Spock, to surrender himself to the Vulcan’s steady mind and let him carry him away from this place, from this shadow of life.

“Can I get a better doctor, at least?” he joked weakly.

“I will take you aboard the Enterprise,” the captain spoke, quiet but unyielding in its emotionlessness. Just what he should expect from a (half-)Vulcan captain on duty. Just… not what he wanted.

Swallowing back his feelings, Jim found himself nodding. He would go wherever he was led, inevitably. What else could he do?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay, lovelies! I had a bit of a month. I swear we're not deliberately torturing you. Lee will illuminate Spock's silence soon. ;)


	7. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I believe the title says it all.

He was afraid to touch him. Since losing Jim, Spock had shut himself off from physical contact. He’d nearly taken to wearing gloves to make certain that he didn’t accidentally pick up anyone’s thoughts. The first few months after losing him had been the worse. Every brush of a crewmember’s fingers, brought their pain, their loss, and their pity.

It was especially horrible with any who knew of their relationship. It was the main reason he’d tried to transfer McCoy off Enterprise. The man knew they’d been in love, and he would touch Spock without asking out of concern, forgetting or ignoring that it caused him pain. They could have sought solace with each other, but Spock was unwilling to let go of his grief. It was all he had left.

When the man who might be Jim wrapped his fingers around his, brushed paired fingers along his, Spock was almost undone. His breath caught. His throat grew thick, and he was torn between the urge to cling or flee. All he could do was retreat, keep his mind his own and not give into the temptation to read the thoughts or memories of the man on the bed.

Feelings that were never allowed to fade away but were shoved into a box that was far too small to contain them, fought for dominance over duty and logic. The battered human looked like Jim, and Spock suddenly knew what it was like to drown. He blinked a few too many times, forcing tears away. He would not to that. Would not give in. Not in this place.

Jim stared up at him, with eyes that weren’t the right color. _Where are your beautiful blue eyes, Jim? The sapphires that lit the way when I was lost in the darkness…_.Brown eyes. Badly healed injuries. Unkempt. Confused. Needy and lost. _Are you Jim?_ If he wasn’t, this was a cruel, cruel joke. It was beyond vicious, and with a Romulan ship hiding nearby, how could he trust anything?

He couldn’t.

“Mr. Hendorf,” he turned toward his security chief. “I must see Commander Scott about our mission on Drozana. I trust you to handle bringing—” _what do I call him_ “—the Captain to _Enterprise_. Take him immediately to Dr. McCoy and tell the Doctor to give him a comprehensive examination.” His control was back. It wasn’t the strongest, but it would have to do until McCoy discovered the truth. “We must know whether or not this is James T. Kirk or an imposter.”

“Wait a minute, Spock!” Jim growled, his voice rough from his coughing fit and the pain from his broken ribs. His chocolate eyes narrowing, the flash of temper they held a perfect match to Jim’s. “I’m not a spy! I’m Jim Kirk!”

“Yes, sir,” Hendorf answered with a nod of his head, followed by an apologetic smile for the man on the biobed.

“I will see you on _Enterprise_ shortly,” he said to Jim, unwavering in his conviction to escape the scene with as much dignity as he could in the crowded bay.

“You, taking him?” The clinic’s doctor came rushing back over to the Starfleet officers, waving a small PADD. “Fine you can have him, but you’ve got to pay his bill. We’re not Starfleet. You don’t get anything free on Drozana.”

“So, I have noticed,” Spock replied, his voice no warmer than an Andorian winter. The Vulcan took the doctor’s PADD and typed his contact information into its interface. “My yeoman will see that you are reimbursed for your services.”

“Spock, talk to me. Where are you going?” Jim sputtered as he climbed out of the bed. His pain was obvious, and Spock slammed another door over the urge to help him walk. Until McCoy cleared him, he didn’t dare.  

There was a subtle softening in his shoulders as he turned back to Jim. His eyes showing a hint of humanity seldom seen in the Vulcan captain when their gazes met. “Please forgive me, Captain, but I am unable to give you the attention you require at this time. I will return to the ship as soon as I am able.”

***

If McCoy had been there, he’d have been accused of running away, and Spock would have to admit that he was 85.943% correct. But the miracle arrival of Jim Kirk wasn’t the ruckus Scott had contacted the ship about. He still needed to see to his mission, his duty, and then, only then, he’d allow himself to feel.

He found Mr. Scott at the bottom of the maintenance levels of the station. Due to unsafe areas and malfunctioning lifts, Spock was forced to take a convoluted path down sloping ramps to the center of the station. By the time he found his chief engineer, his uniform was spotted with grime, and his hair was dusted with cobwebs.

“Well look at you,” Scott said with a snorting laugh. He’d covered his uniform in a utilitarian jumpsuit as had the rest of his crew. Spock wished he’d had the same opportunity to do so. “I was beginning to think some beastie was snacking on you, Captain. There are some nasty things inside the vents and every bit of machinery that doesn’t work. Nearly got bitten by a rat as big as Keenzer.”

“I hope that wasn’t the ruckus you summoned me for, Mr. Scott.” Spock arched a brow at the engineer and then wrinkled his nose when one of the cobwebs got caught on it. He brushed it away with as much dignity as he could muster while Scott popped open tool kit.

“No sir. Found this.” Inside the container was a fabric wrapped object about the same size as Spock’s foot. Scott tapped it three times to ensure that Spock knew he’d found Starfleet’s missing toy. “And these.” He pulled out a glove, which explained why the man was only wearing one. Holding the fingers, he tipped the glove’s wrist opening over the top of the kit. “Ten so far.”

“Romulan,” Spock said, as he took a closer look at the tiny monitoring devices. “They look quite old.”

“Yes, and most of them are. But there were a few still working. We left those in place. Didn’t want them to know that we know. If you know what I mean.”

“Indeed.” Spock took the parcel from Scott and tucked it under his arm. “I will return to _Enterprise_. Please continue your efforts to keep the station functioning as per our agreement with the owner.”

 


	8. Sentiment

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jim and Bones reunite

Jim hid a pained hiss behind an awkward laugh as the turbolift door shut him in with Hendorf. He’d struggled to walk here, the gruff security officer so endlessly patient that it had gotten him on edge. He didn’t blame the larger man, of course. He knew he looked beat to hell, skin and bones shaking under Hendorf’s hands, but if there was anything he couldn’t handle right now from his crew it was- careful reverence. Treating him like glass was the easiest way to break-  
Shit.

The turbolift had begun to move and the sudden movement had him folding over, a hand pressed over his mouth. Hendorf’s grip on his elbow kept him standing as he swayed into the wall, and if possible his face was paler as he straightened up again. “No transporter for the spy, huh?”

The Lieutenant Commander shrugged awkwardly, embarrassed. “We’re not allowed to transport on and off the station, shuttle only.”

Jim eyed the man. It wouldn’t surprise him much, Ferengi got very- annoying- about such things.   
“Typical.”

“Sorry Captain.”

Something turned over in Jim. Captain. He hadn’t-

Hadn’t heard that in a long time. Hadn’t felt it in a long time either. A knot in his chest constricted then released. Without it, a portion of the blockade he had built crumbled and light struck the black thing that was trapped inside. Jim recoiled with a bitten gasp, surprised by the influx of emotion, but managed to bury them behind a facade of physical pain. He wasn’t sure it worked, but the security chief kindly pretended as if nothing was happening. Just another day with Jim Kirk bleeding- nothing unusual in that.

The doors opened. The walk from there to sickbay was only a couple dozen steps but Jim took easy more slowly and with more difficulty. He and the doctor- he and Bones- they’d been satellites in each other’s lives for so long they had practically developed their own language for the maze of things they understood about each other but shouldn’t say… but it had been five long years and that Jim had been twisted and twisted around until

He wasn’t sure-

Some things couldn’t change. Spock’s reaction to him had been- To have something like that happen with both of them would be-

“Sir?”

“It’s fine, Lieutenant.”

Hendorf shifted awkwardly and Jim sighed, exhausted. “Commander, sorry. I’ll get used to it.” He slapped the man on the arm but it clearly stung his palm more than anything. The man smiled, though it seemed tense, and Jim forced himself to take the last few steps into sickbay. 

“...Jim?” He kept his head bowed, cringing internally. The doctor’s voice was soft, shocked, pained- whispered. Jim bit his bottom lip, pushing out a measured breath. He shuffled backwards, bumping into Hendorf’s solid shoulder.

“What on God’s green earth did you do to yourself this time?” Bones growled. Jim’s head snapped up, his brown eyes wide, and before he could say anything Bones had grabbed him by the arm, dragging him to the nearest biobed. “And who the hell did you let operate on you? They did a shit job. Sit the hell down.”

“Bones-”

“Don’t you try to talk your way out of it, you idiot,” the doctor snapped, glowering at Jim. He had already activated the biobed; Hendorf helped Jim stretch out on the bed- manhandled him while he was distracted, rather. Bones snapped up a PaDD from a passing nurse, connecting it to the bed. His frown deepened as he perused the scans and readings scrolling down his screen, hazel eyes flicking between Jim and the screen. Hendorf loomed uncertainly until McCoy waspishly dismissed him, hurrying out of sickbay with a “glad to see you, Kirk,” floating out behind him.

They lapsed into silence… or at least as much silence as Bones could keep when he was pissed. The doctor muttered to himself, jargon punctuated with wild insults. Jim stared at his hands, picking at the dirt under his nails. His head felt full of cotton, and the bright lights of the Enterprise hammered at his headache. He didn’t know what to do about Bones. Just like Spock, the man seemed happy to- no, that wasn’t- okay but he wasn’t looking at him either and-

Bones shoved him down into a lying position, growling: “stop moving, you child, you’re fucking up the readings.”

“Are you going to stop yelling at me at some point?”

“No!” The PaDD hit the floor, and through its transparent aluminium face showed no damage, it went dark. “What the hell, Jim?”

But it was enough. Leonard McCoy sank onto the bed’s edge, his head in his hands, hidden from Jim. He shook his head slowly, his breathing harsh and quick. Jim struggled to sit up- without looking, Leonard reached a hand out and pushed him back down. He pinned Jim in place with barely any effort, turning his head so that he could see the blond out of one eye.

They sat in silence, time stretching between them, Jim’s gaze flicking between Leonard’s hazel eyes and his own hands like a schoolboy in trouble. Bones stared at him for a long time, half the watchful worry of a close friend and half the analytical doctor’s eye. After what felt like forever, the doctor cracked a smile. “Hi Jim.”

“Hi.”

“You trying to make me cry in front of my crew, you idiot?”

“Hey, don’t look at me. I would’ve waited in your room with a drink, but Spock sent me down here-”

“Smart man-”

“So you can make sure it’s really me.”

“-I take it back and I’m sorry I said anything at all,” Bones snapped, looking waspish again. The corner of Jim’s mouth curved. “Of course it’s you. What, you get a bit of Vulcan on your face and he can’t recognize you anymore?”

“I think he was looking for a DNA test.”

Bones scoffed. “A DNA test? The hell would that prove?”

“That I’m me?”

“Sure, or a clone.”

“How do you know I’m not?”

Bones shifted so that he faced Jim head on, so that Jim could see his expression. Pure McCoy: one eyebrow climbing to the sky, his mouth pulled flat and thin, looking down at Jim as if he had asked what two plus two equaled. Jim felt another piece of armor detach, sheared away and leaving him bleeding. His lashes fluttered, eyes catching a sheen. Bones didn’t notice, or pretended he didn’t. “You can clone a man but you can’t copy his medical history. Your bones do something funny when you don’t eat for a long time.”

“Jesus, Bones.” Leave it to him to bring that shit up now. Bones didn’t seem impressed though; Jim eyed the doctor as he picked his PaDD back off the floor, reactivating and reconnecting it in a habitual swipe. Jim hadn’t seen that model before, now that he was getting a closer look.

“Well fuck you too for appearing without warning. Tryna give me a heart attack? And what the hell did you do to your eyes, you maniac?”

“Long story, Bones.”

“Is it? Or did you just run across a bodymod shop in grime country and decide it sounded like a good idea at the time? I’m amazed you can even see through that mess, don’t think I didn’t notice you have dye over your lenses-”

“Seriously, are you going to lecture me all day?”

“Jesus.” He tapped furiously at a scan. It zoomed into Jim’s left ocular socket, the one that throbbed with his heartbeat. “Can you even-”

“Nope, sorry. But you can fix that.”

“Damnit Jim!”

The silence was quickly broken by a surprised cough- a snort- in a few seconds the wide-eyed amazement on Jim’s face cracked into laughter. He reverted to coughing and swearing quickly, his thin frame shaking, but he was smiling- and so was Bones, even though he pretended he wasn’t, his lips pursed together.

“Get it together, kid,” Leonard told him softly, squeezing Jim’s wrist. His fingers were rough and hot against Jim’s papery skin. “I’m gonna set you up on fluids for a while before I can run you under the osteoregen, but your bumps and bruises I can take care of.”

“Yeah, yeah. I know, Bones.”

The man’s smile tinted with sadness. He ran a broad hand over the shell of Jim’s skull, ruffling the brutally short blond hair. “Missed hearing that name more than I’d like to admit.”

“And look at you admitting it,” Jim joked, brushing aside the pain. Bones snorted, rubbing his eyes.

“Alright Jim.” He patted the other man’s wrist a last time before pushing himself to his feet. He hovered for a moment, but a gentle tease sent him on his way.

Jim propped himself up on his elbow. Shifting his hips inch by inch and slowly straightening his arms, he managed to squirm until his back found the wall, and pushed himself up. His breaths were carefully quiet to hide the labor in them. He rested, mostly sitting, and glanced around the room. The bodies around him were mostly unfamiliar. Across the room, he spotted a pair of black eyes watching him. He tilted his head and the other head tilted with it, an impish smile spreading across the woman’s lips. Nurse Odowa. She circled the area around her left eye, holding two fingers up and reversing them, then shook her head gently at him. He shrugged, winked at her from across the room. He could see her laughing, though he knew it to be too soft to carry, as she returned to her work.

His gaze wandered, more interested in crew than ship in this moment. They were not, perhaps, known to him, but the familiarity with which they moved around and with each other was magnificent. As he became more aware of them, he started to notice the eddies, the places where two spoke, and the next two, swirling out from the center. He noticed, too, the quick flicks of eyes towards him in a secondary wave, the quicker pace afterwards, as if a new energy bloomed through the room. It started to fill him too, the thing at the center of it, and the wave of feeling it released was-

Bones crossed his view, immediately drawing his attention. He swallowed the lump that wasbuilding in his throat, dropping his gaze. Jim immediately grimaced at the needle in the man’s hands, recoiling.

“Don’t you even start with me,” Bones grumbled, grabbing Jim’s arm and applying a cool gel to the crook of his elbow. “Regenerators are nice but the fastest way to get fluids in someone is just to put some damn fluids in. It’s nobody else’s fault you need them.”

Jim sighed, slumping, and allowed the doctor to do as he must. He missed the furrow-browed disbelief clouding McCoy’s face, his own turned towards the moving body that was sickbay’s staff.

“I don’t know most of them but they’re a lot happier to see me than Spock was.”

Leonard snorted. “Sure, Jim, because we all know Spock is sunshine and rainbows.” 

Jim shrugged a shoulder despondently. He didn’t protest as Bones slid an arm behind his back and shifted him back down onto his back. The close familiarity of the moment disarmed him, his head turning into the dip of Leonard’s shoulder as he had so many drunken times before. “Come on Bones,” he breathed softly, struggling to keep up the warm-hearted cheer now that the topic had bubbled out of his mouth, but still- trying. Always trying. “He wouldn’t even touch me.”

Bones was silent for a moment. He finished helping Jim down, taped down his fluid line, attaching it to a small plasma generator, double checking the calibration. “Spock-” he sighed, gritting his teeth. He snorted, a harsh sound through his nose, shaking his head. “Kicked Uhura off the ship and damned near did the same with me. Three guesses why,” he tacked on harshly. But the fire burned out of him quick- he and Spock didn’t need to see eye to eye on the whole thing for him to understand, at least, why he had done what he had. Had tried to, anyway. “Spock didn’t take it well. Let’s just say, I’ve been expecting him to retire and leave to achieve Kohlinar or whatever the hell they call it.” The last part was mumbled, tacked on as if Bones was embarrassed to be caught knowing about Vulcan culture. It was a distraction from the actual weight of his words, but Jim didn’t miss them.

“He’s scared of the floodgates, huh?”

“Five years of holding shit in will make a tsunami, Jim.”

“I think you’re just making these up now.”

“I’m serious, Jim.” His voice was softer now, aware of others walking around him. “Tread lightly.”

“Wow Bones,” Jim wheezed out, exhausted by the urge to make everything light and sweet even as a hole of dread opened up in him, “not taking my side against Spock? I have been gone too long.”

“I got to fix you before I get to hurt you for that, you know,” Bones spat back, his mouth in a grim, tight line. The doctor was going over Jim’s readings again, he noticed. Formulating a medical plan in his head, no doubt. Were the lights dimming or was that just exhaustion and migraine?

He barely made out Bones’s next words, soft as they were, through the noise in his own head. “This ship is a damned graveyard without you.”

The doors whisked open before Jim could respond. Half-obscured by Bones’s torso, Spock stood in the archway.

“It’s him all right.” The doctor called to his captain, waving his PaDD aggressively. “Beat up to hell as goddamn always but it’s Jim all right.”

Definitely Jim- but not Captain Kirk.


	9. Questions

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Spock and Jim finally.

Spock strode to his ready room with the device Scott had found in the depths of Drozana tight against his side in a standard issue landing party bag. He attempted to avoid questions from anyone in the crew about Jim—not Jim—Kirk being found on the station, but it was difficult. The news traveled fast from one end of the Constitution Class cruiser to the other at nearly the speed of light. A ship wide announcement seemed the logical move to make, but how did he phrase it?

_ A man who appears to be James T. Kirk was found on Drozana station, but I was too afraid to find out if he was or not? Jim Kirk is back, and I am stepping down as captain? Pay no attention to the man behind the curtain.  _ It was ridiculous.  _ I am sorry, but I am emotionally compromised. _

In the end he decided to ignore logic and let the gossip continue. To quote Dune, “Fear was the mind killer.” It was something Spock firmly believed, especially since he knew exactly what he was afraid of.

He’d watched Jim die. Cried for him. Nearly killed Khan with his bare hands for him, and then hovered at his bedside for two weeks waiting for him to come back. The hope within him had glowed with the intensity of a quasar. The light sputtered to life when he and Jim became friends, expanding like the universe itself as their relationship grew more complex and more powerful. From enemies, to friends, to lovers, and then to a point where Spock was ready to ask Jim to bond with him, to marry him in the human and Vulcan way.

Then  _ Enterprise _ was attacked. By the time the battle was over, the ship damaged nearly beyond repair, crewmembers stumbling through the wreckage, sobs of pain and shock, the stink of burning electronics and flesh filling the air, and there was no sign of Jim Kirk. He was gone. Gone before he could finish the bond, to be able to feel him as his father could feel his mother.

Spock wasn’t afraid of losing the  _ Enterprise _ . He was afraid of the barely glowing ball of hope resting at the center of his soul. He was afraid of the hope and the crushing disappointment he would feel if that man was an impostor.

He fell into habit, letting duty guide him instead of his emotions. Sarek would have been proud.  he focused on the matter at hand—the device. It was his duty, after all, to inspect it and inform Starfleet that they had located it, but with the Romulan ship lurking beneath its cloak, Spock was concerned that any communique he sent might be intercepted. For them to be there and hiding, so far from the Neutral Zone, they had to be there for a good reason.

 

***

 

“Computer, secure room,” he said as he settled behind his desk. Unlike when it had been Jim’s ready room, there were several pieces of scientific equipment from his lab on the shelves behind him. After pulling a protective tray from his middle drawer, the one above the not exactly secret bottle of bourbon, he reached for a precision tool kit and scanner from the shelves.

With typical care, Spock unwrapped the device. It was an old design, something he recalled from Starfleet history of two decades in the past. His brows moved to knit over his nose at the memory, since according to his recall, which was eidetic, the device was a piece of standard landing party equipment. There was nothing rare or unique about it. While Starfleet no longer used this osteo-regenerator, they were known to be used by civilians, but he could not understand why such a thing was important enough for Starfleet to order the  _ Enterprise _ to find it.

His curiosity being what it was, he tapped the handheld scanner on his PADD to link them and began to move it slowly over the osteo-regenerator. The readings made no sense. There appeared to be no electronic parts within it. He’d expected it to be drained of all power, but the batteries that were once inside of it were no longer there.

“Fascinating,” he said, setting the scanner aside to pry the instrument apart. There was an unusual amount of dust within the regenerator. Far more than there was on the outside, which was also of interest. Tattered fabric that was dozens of years old, if not more, was tucked inside the hollowed out shell. The dust and sand were tinted red, and Spock’s nose wrinkled at the all too familiar scent of Vulcan soil.

Using both hands, he pulled the fabric away, careful not to tear the fragile cloth. He almost reached for the scanner, but stopped when a tip of stone with Vulcan carving became visible. The writing was ancient, from around the time of the Awakening, which contrary to many humans was not a primitive time for Vulcans as it was on Earth, and it might be older than that if it was what Spock thought it was.

“The Stone of Gol.” Or part of it to be precise. He finished unwrapping the shard of the ancient psionic weapon that according to myths had been destroyed by the Vulcan gods of War, Peace, and Death. Its parts had scattered through space and somehow, 2000 years later, a part of it was hidden within Drozana station.  _ It made no sense _ .

 

***

 

Leaving the fragment locked in the security locker in his ready room, Spock made his way to med bay, happy to have that mystery to keep him from overthinking the one with bright blue eyes—or eyes that should be bright blue. He stood at the door watching McCoy and nodded when the man told him that the emaciated man on the biobed was in fact, Jim Kirk.

Half a dozen steps took Spock through the ward, where he ordered the computer to create a privacy screen around Jim’s bed. He was haggard, looking nearly as brittle as the fabric shroud around the Stone. Spock stood next to the bed, mirroring what he’d done when Jim had awoken after his death, before reaching for Jim’s hand.

“Jim,” his voice cracked. The dam holding back the torrent of his emotions shattered, and he slumped onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders wracked with a keening sob, as heavy tears raced down his cheeks. “I don’t…I’m sorry…t’hy’la.

Without letting go of Jim’s hand, he reached with his free hand to cup the side of his face, running his thumb over his dry lips, and Spock’s breath caught at the unnatural state of Jim’s eyes. His fingers paired, curling around Jim’s, his flesh far too thin across his knuckles for Spock’s likings. He needed a bath, but Spock didn’t care.

It was Jim. His Jim. Spock’s lips met his, while he opened his mind for a far more intimate touch, letting Jim feel his want, his need, and the flicker of joy that Spock thought was long dead. “Taluhk nash-veh k'dular,” he murmured against Jim’s lips, while touching their foreheads together. “Where have you been. I could not find you. I searched and search, but Starfleet…”

“Spock, breathe,” Jim said, his fingers mirroring the Vulcan's on hand and face, his own tears leaving trails into his ears while Spock’s spattered the tattoo on his cheek. “I’m with you. Sorry it took me so long to get back.”

“Tell me everything, Jim. I need to hear your voice. Need to know you’re real.”

“Dr McCoy told you I was me, didn’t he?”

“Yes, but you know I feel it necessary to doubt him. It is a tradition between us.” Jim laughed suddenly at that, though it devolved quickly into a rattle. He pulled a face, taking Spock’s hand with his as he rubbed at his chest. Spock took a trio of deep breaths, to regain his composure as much as he could, which wasn’t very much. How was he supposed to find his center?  _ Simple, he is your center _ .

“Wash your face,” Jim told him as he scooted upward in the bed to rest against the headboard “Bones seeing you like this is one thing. Your crew is another.” Jim sighed, his tongue touching his cupid’s bow. “I only want to tell this story once.”

Jim let Spock go, but Spock could still feel the strong bond once again tethering them together as he went to the small sink against the wall to wash up. He was clearly smiling when he looked in the mirror, and he could see Jim doing the same on the bed. “He has seen me like this already,” he said before drying his face and returning to his perch on the edge of the bed, where his rump and thigh pressed against Jim’s side while he entwined their fingers together. “When I lost you.”

“Yeah, well,” Jim shrugged listlessly, his eyes drifting shut. His weight shifted onto Spock, who accepted it gracefully, shifting his limbs to aid in Jim’s comfort. “Bones is good at secrets.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My turn to apologize for taking so long. Life got very, very crazy for awhile there.


End file.
